


service rotation

by shanlyrical



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, First Time, Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Non-Human Genitalia, Pre-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2019-11-24 22:07:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18170453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanlyrical/pseuds/shanlyrical
Summary: While on his tenth and final service rotation with the Halls of Healing, Senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi meets a recovering glitterstim addict who calls himself Maul.





	service rotation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamiflame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamiflame/gifts).



He screams. The pain is excruciating.

Knives lance through the organs of his chest; stars go supernova behind his eyelids; and his skull is being broken open like the crust of a hollow planet. His spine arches, an unnatural stretch; he is bent backwards, practically in half. His limbs shake uncontrollably.

 _Forgive me, Lord Sidious,_ he thinks, _I have failed you. I will not survive this…_

“No, no, listen to me. Focus on my voice. You are going through severe glitterstim withdrawal. Allow me to ease your suffering.”

_There is only suffering. Peace is a lie…_

A gentle touch – a hand? – comes to rest on his forehead, and a mind brushes the roiling, boiling surface of his thoughts, urging calm.

“Yes, that’s right. Relax and focus on my voice. Yes, that’s it. Sleep now.”

There is genuine power behind those words. A Force-suggestion, perhaps? He is far, far too weak to resist.

The oblivion of deepest sleep claims him.

* * *

“And how are you feeling this morning?”

“Like I’ve been trampled underfoot by a nerf herd stampede.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but smile. “Yesterday you said you felt like you’d been trampled underfoot by _ten_ nerf herd stampedes. I shall rate this as a marked improvement,” he announced.

The patient on the bed at the far end of the row had been in the worst condition by a parsec or more when he’d arrived two standard weeks ago. Glitterstim withdrawal was brutal. Excruciating pain was a given, and hallucinations were common as well. Death was a real risk. And unfortunately, pharmacological remedies were not always compatible with patient xenobiologies – treat a Zabrak like a gene-standard human, for example, and you were liable to kill him outright, not cure him.

Which was where the Jedi Order came in. Providing therapeutic meditation to help break addicts of their addictions was one of the many free community services available at the Temple on Coruscant. Senior Padawan learner Obi-Wan Kenobi was on the tenth and final mandatory service rotation of his apprenticeship, and he was serving this one in the Halls of Healing. Working with recovering addicts was meant to teach compassion. After it was over, Obi-Wan would be eligible to take the Trials, the successful completion of which would elevate him to Knighthood. All he’d need once he became eligible was Master Qui-Gon’s permission. He couldn’t wait.

Still, Obi-Wan had to admit that this service rotation was serving its intended purpose. Coruscanti law enforcement had delivered this particular patient to them. He had been taken into custody for disorderly conduct in the Coco Town district, and the Judicials had tacked on a glitterstim possession charge as well just because he was vulnerable and they could, but he needed to get clean before he could stand trial. By the time he’d arrived at the Temple, he was belligerent and already showing early signs of withdrawal.

“We ought to give it at least two more weeks to be safe, sir,” Obi-Wan said. He wasn’t expecting resistance from the patient. Who would wish to face the law before absolutely necessary? “The Healers recommend continuing daily meditations. After all, we wouldn’t want any stray nerfs to head-butt you straight back into the recovery ward!”

“Please. I’m no ‘sir.’ Call me Maul,” the patient – _Maul_ – said, smiling brightly at Obi-Wan.

That name, along with the red-and-black body tattoos, were undoubtedly meant to make Maul seem fierce. Darthomiri Zabrak men were warriors; some were even Force-sensitive. That made them potentially dangerous. Obi-Wan knew all that from his studies. But this Maul didn’t seem particularly dangerous or fierce at the moment. In fact, when he smiled, his yellow irises seemed to shine like sunlight, and he looked…he looked… He made Obi-Wan feel…he felt…

Ah well, never mind. Obi-Wan’s service rotation would be over in another two weeks. After that, Maul would become someone else’s problem.

“Maul it is,” Obi-Wan replied agreeably, “and you must call me Obi-Wan. Now, do you wish to begin today’s treatment?”

* * *

His former strength returns gradually. Within a week, he can sit upright in bed. A few days after that, he is able stand and take light exercise.

The meditation therapy definitely helps him a lot. As does Obi-Wan’s humorous outlook on things. He’s started to eagerly anticipate the sessions. They both do.

Obi-Wan knows that Maul is Force-sensitive but says nothing. Maul doesn’t mention it either. They’ve been dancing around it. They’ve both been dancing around a lot of things, actually.

Nevertheless, their sessions have become…intense, like they’re tumbling headfirst into each other. It’s intimate. _Arousing_. There’s mutual attraction.

So when Obi-Wan suggests that they try meditating outdoors in one of the Jedi Temple’s many gardens, Maul can’t agree fast enough. Besides, he tells himself, it’s a chance to learn the layout of the Temple, and Obi-Wan gives him a chatty guided tour along the way. Once in the gardens, though, they find a secluded spot in the middle of a tree-lined grove, where the air is still and quiet and the grass is soft and warm. They stand face to face. Their bodies are aching with barely suppressed desire.

“You’re beautiful,” Maul says. “Will you allow me to…?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan whispers. His expression is almost stunned, like he can’t quite believe this is happening to him. _To them._ “ _Yes_ ,” he repeats.

So when Maul reaches out to twirl his fingers through Obi-Wan’s Padawan braid, Obi-Wan just blushes adorably. And when Maul’s hand slides lower, to loosen the front of Obi-Wan’s robes, to open them, Obi-Wan lets him. And when Maul pulls Obi-Wan into an openmouthed, hot-breathed kiss, Obi-Wan reciprocates. Then he pulls Maul in closer, into an ardent embrace, and they are falling together.

* * *

This wasn’t his first time. It wasn’t even his first time with a man. Yet somehow, this first time with Maul felt like the first time that sex actually _counted_.

One of the first things Maul did was get down on his knees and offer to service Obi-Wan with his mouth. His face was level with Obi-Wan’s groin, and Obi-Wan could feel himself twitching with excitement.

“I’m good at this,” Maul said. “Plenty of practice, you know?”

Glitterstim addicts routinely traded sex for credits. Obi-Wan _did_ know – he could imagine it all too easily, as a matter of fact – and for that reason especially, it wasn’t what he wanted with Maul.

“No, that’s not what I want. I want to touch you, and I want to feel you inside of me,” Obi-Wan declared. Giving and sharing were both more important than merely taking.

Maul seemed mildly surprised, but he did not protest when Obi-Wan opened the front of Maul’s trousers and freed his cock. He’d been tattooed there too, as it turned out, base to tip, and intricate, swirling patterns of crimson on black were revealed as the shaft began to swell and lengthen in Obi-Wan’s hands. Beautiful. He began to stroke firmly. Ah, the texture was wonderful, like silk over iron! And so thick! Obi-Wan continued stroking. He could hardly wait to try taking Maul inside—

Then the glans corona popped entirely out of the foreskin, and suddenly Obi-Wan was having second thoughts. The head of Maul’s cock was covered in fearsome, outward-pointing spines. They looked sharp enough to pierce and tear at delicate flesh.

“I-I—” Obi-Wan gulped and shivered, fear layering itself onto his arousal. Did he dare try to touch…?

“Yes, touch me there,” Maul whispered. His cock was throbbing in Obi-Wan’s fist like a second heartbeat; the spines almost seemed to vibrate.

With great trepidation, Obi-Wan touched one of the spines. Maul groaned, his hips jerking spasmodically – clearly they were very sensitive. But Obi-Wan was in for another surprise: The spine he had touched was soft cartilage, not hard keratin, and it responded to the stimulus by secreting a slick, oily substance.

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened with delight. A natural lubricant. How convenient. He felt a burst of hot desire in his loins.

When Maul finally took him, they were face to face, with Obi-Wan on his back on the grass, pinned beneath the weight of Maul’s body. That exquisite stretch of Maul’s cock, that endless, liquid slide, those tantalizing spiny projections that seemed to tickle Obi-Wan in all the places he was most sensitive – there was no beginning, no middle, no end to any of it. There was only Maul moving, thrusting, strong and slow, and Obi-Wan biting his own bottom lip to stop himself from crying out, from giving away their secrets. There was only kissing, and Obi-Wan’s legs locked tight around Maul’s waist, and Obi-Wan’s fingers interlaced with Maul’s own so that Maul would not be tempted touch him, would not set him off, his orgasm on a hair-trigger, would not bring a foreshortened end to this passionate lovemaking.

When, after a moment, after an eternity, Maul did freeze and start to fill Obi-Wan up, Obi-Wan was right there with him to share the sensations of climax, writhing, wailing behind clenched teeth, and painting their bellies with white stripes of semen.

* * *

They lie still and listen to their panting breaths, the rapid beating of their hearts. Obi-Wan remains impaled on his cock. Pleasure shades into the pain of overstimulation.

He isn’t a pathetic life form in need of charitable intervention. He is Darth Maul, Dark Lord of the Sith.

He was only meant to infiltrate the Jedi Temple, a test of prowess to prove his worth to Lord Sidious. The glitterstim withdrawal was not feigned but nothing he could not have overcome by himself if necessary. He was not meant to seduce and bed a Jedi apprentice.

He rocks his hips slightly. Obi-Wan moans. He sounds happy. Content. He does not suspect.

That counts as an additional victory, certainly.

 _Through Power I gain Victory,_ Darth Maul thinks. _Through Victory my chains are Broken. Now, what to do about Obi-Wan…?_

“Mmm, that was nice. Very nice. Let’s do it again sometime,” Obi-Wan murmurs.

He realizes he hasn’t yet decided.


End file.
